Appassionata
by ZoZo1770
Summary: AU. Roderich Edelstein is a piano teacher with a secret that threatens his livelihood. Elizabeta Héderváry, his wealthy yet demotivated student whose life is turned upside down. However as her lessons progress, Elizabeta finds that the piano is not the only thing for which her passion is deepening, but how far will she go to break down her teacher's walls? Eventual Austria/Hungary.
1. Bagatelle

Summary: AU. Roderich Edelstein is a piano teacher with a secret that threatens his livelihood. Elizabeta Héderváry, his wealthy yet demotivated student whose life is turned upside down. However as her lessons progress, Elizabeta finds that the piano is not the only thing for which her passion is deepening, but how far will she go to break down her teacher's walls? Eventual Austria/Hungary.

Disclaimer: don't own, yadda yadda yadda. Wish I did though. :D

A/N: Hey folks, I thought this site was lacking a little in pianoteacher!Austria so here he is, alongside student!Hungary in my first Hetalia fic. I'll have multiple fics going on at the same time as this, so apologies if the updates are a little slow. Also, parts of this are loosely based on my own experience with my piano teachers (NOT the romance part, but a lot of other things :3) - I kinda felt I had to let it all out. Hopefully, though, it'll give it a more realistic feel...? Idk. Oh, and I know this is rated T for the moment, but there will be a lemon or two (probably) and so I'll change it to M when the time comes.

Also, some German words are used. Translations at the bottom.

Anyway, enough rambling from me, enjoy!

* * *

'Oh, I'm so sorry!

It had been an ordinary day for Elizabeta Héderváry. After being unsuccessful once again in her daily search for a competent piano teacher, she had decided to take a break and get a Frappuccino from her local café. Ever since her last piano teacher had retired a few months ago, Elizabeta had found herself sitting at the piano less and less each day, incapable of teaching herself anything and sticking to it. She felt annoyingly _useless _without someone else to guide her, frustrated at how little patience she had for any piece, and she knew if she did not find another teacher soon she would lose her passion altogether.

Yet she wanted a _better _teacher. Her old one (one of many), she had to admit, had been good but not _great_, and, if anything, Elizabeta practised not because she wanted to but because she could not be bothered with the earache she would receive otherwise. Much as she missed having a teacher, Elizabeta certainly did _not_ miss practising Bach's partitas and preludes, and if there was anything that she had learnt from her lessons with her old teacher it was that Baroque music was definitely not her thing.

And so she found herself in this position, looking up teachers online here in Vienna who sounded appealing. Austria was the country of classical music, was it not? Surely there would be _someone _who suited her. Unfortunately, however, the past few months had proven her wrong, and every teacher she had spoken to on the phone simply did not _sound_ inspirational enough, causing her to politely make an excuse and refuse their lessons. She was getting fussy, and it was a nuisance.

There was no denying, however, that she was growing desperate, and she had come to realise this more than ever as she turned away from the counter after having paid for her drink here in the café – only to crash into someone, consequently knocking their drink over them.

'I – I do apologise, it was my fault – here, let me buy you another one –'

The man she had run into gave a kind laugh. 'Don't worry about it, you didn't mean to run into me.'

She looked at him. He was certainly good-looking, with his tan, dark hair and bright green eyes. 'No, I insist, it's the least I can do.'

A few euros and a mocha later, Elizabeta was sitting opposite the man at one of the small tables.

'So, you from around here?' he was asking her.

She shook her head. 'I was born in Hungary, but my parents and I moved here when I was seven. They always found Austria beautiful – not to mention they're classical musicians, so they thought it was fitting that we'd move here and be immersed in the culture. You know, with all the great composers spending their lives here and everything… what about you? You don't look… Austrian…'

The man smiled as he took a sip from his drink. 'That's because I'm not. I'm from Spain, but I like to travel around a lot. I've been here in Vienna for just over a year, now, and I'm getting restless already.'

'Where do you plan on going next?'

'I'm not sure yet, but think I'd quite like to visit somewhere outside Europe. America, maybe… whatever happens, I'll probably only stick around here for a few months longer.'

'It must be great to travel so much.'

The man nodded enthusiastically. 'It definitely is!'

He took another sip from his mocha. 'So, you're a musician, too?'

'Yep,' Elizabeta replied, 'I play the piano… although I'm struggling at the moment due to my lack of teacher. I haven't yet reached that level where I can cope without one, if that makes sense. In a few more years, maybe, yes, but now… I'm useless on my own!'

She grinned a little.

'I see…' the man replied, 'you know, I might be able to help you with that.'

Elizabeta looked at him. 'You… you would?'

He nodded. 'I have a… an old friend, shall we say, who is not only a concert pianist and conductor, but also a private music teacher who lives here in Vienna. I've watched him play a few times at various concert halls – and I heard he was performing again sometime soon. Now, where was the venue… the Vienna something…'

Elizabeta's eyes widened. 'The Vienna Muzikverein? That's quite a concert hall.'

And a prestigious one, if anything.

'Yes, that was it. I admit, I haven't seen him in over a year, so I don't know how true that is, but it sounds a lot like him.'

The man smiled fondly. 'He's quite the aristocrat and, even though I'm not a musician myself, I'm pretty sure he knows his stuff. He often managed to bring people like Beethoven or Chopin or Mozart into conversation whenever I spoke to him. He's probably one of the best in the field.'

'He sounds wonderful… a-as a teacher, I mean…'

'His name is Roderich Edelstein. I think I still have his number somewhere in my phone if you want it…?'

'Oh, that'd be great!'

The man pulled out his mobile and dictated the number to Elizabeta. After she saved it into her contacts, he checked his watch and stood up.

'Is that the time? I have to be off, I'm afraid.'

Elizabeta looked up from her phone and smiled at him gratefully, standing up as well. 'Well, it was nice meeting you. Thank you so much for this,' she said, gesturing to her mobile, 'oh, and sorry about your drink…' she finished sheepishly.

He laughed. 'Don't worry about it – oh, I just realised, I never caught your name.'

'It's Elizabeta.'

'Good to meet you, Elizabeta! I'm Antonio. See you around, maybe – and do give Roderich my regards!'

She smiled as he left, suddenly eager to get home.

oOo

'…and apparently he's due to be performing at the Vienna Muzikverein, too! I'm _positive_ he'll be a good teacher, and that's just what I need.'

'If you're sure, Elizabeta,' replied her mother, looking up from her book as she sat elegantly on the sofa in their large, well-furnished living room, 'I don't want you turning down _another _teacher. It was only last week that your father and I were talking and I had half a mind to make you stick with the next one you spoke to, whether you liked it or no.'

Elizabeta sighed. 'I just don't want another teacher like Frau Hoffmann. She was so _boring_… and she never performed anywhere, she just _taught_, day in, day out. And what about the teacher before that? He was nice, yes, but he couldn't _teach_. I was stuck on Grade 4 for _three whole years_. I have a feeling Herr Edelstein will be just the sort of person I need to help me get back on track.'

'Well, phone him up and arrange some lessons with him. However much he charges, I am willing to pay as long as you're sure this is what you want.'

'It is.'

And the more she thought about it, the more she knew it to be true.

Later that evening Elizabeta sat on her bed, pen in one hand, phone in the other, and dialled the number Antonio had given her. It rang twice before someone answered.

'_Hallo_?'

'_Guten Abend_. Is this Herr Edelstein?'

'It is.'

His voice was low and smooth, and Elizabeta found herself shivering at it. He sounded young for such a virtuoso, and was well-spoken.

'My name is Elizabeta Héderváry. I, uh… I've been looking for a piano teacher for quite some time now, and I understand that you give private lessons. I was hoping that I might be able to arrange some lessons with you…?'

'I regret to inform you, Ms Héderváry, that I am no longer taking students.'

That had been the last thing she had wanted to hear, and not to mention unexpected. 'I – what?! Since when? Why?'

'A few months now. I have my reasons.'

'I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound rude. But… you don't understand, I seem to change piano teachers like normal people change clothes. I've been through too many and –

'You are not the first person to pester me for lessons. My answer remains the same,' came the cool reply.

'Please. You of all people should know how important it is to hold passion for an instrument – and I'm losing mine rapidly. I want – I _need _– inspiration and I… I want someone good…' she finished lamely.

'What makes you so sure about me being the right teacher?'

'I was told you're the best, and I believe it's true.'

There was a pause, and then –

'And who was it who told you that I am, as you say, "the best"?'

_He probably doesn't believe it about himself at all, judging by the way he said that_, thought Elizabeta.

'A man called Antonio – an acquaintance of yours, if I remember rightly. He sends his regards, by the way…' she said quietly.

'I'm afraid I must ask you to repeat that last part, I did not quite catch it.'

'I said Antonio sends his regards.'

There was another silence, and Elizabeta began to fiddle with her hair.

'Antonio…' Herr Edelstein said from the other end of the line, 'who is your favourite composer, Elizabeta?'

'My – pardon?' she replied, frowning at the seemingly random question.

'Your favourite composer. Who is it?'

The answer was easy. 'Beethoven.'

'Why?'

Elizabeta stared straight ahead, and the words seemed to tumble from her lips without her even trying.

'Because… because it's easy to hear the passion that he poured into his music. His piano sonatas, his symphonies… they can awaken such feelings from people, feelings that they didn't even know they had. The sadness in his Moonlight sonata, the anger in the Pathétique, the joy in his ninth symphony… it goes far beyond normal emotion.'

She found herself smiling. 'But not only that,' she continued, 'it's the fact that he was utterly devoted to his art – so devoted that he did not let the fact that he went deaf stop him from creating masterpieces. I'm sure you know how he would have taken his own life had it not been for his music – he said it himself. And if that's not passion, I don't know what is.'

She suddenly felt breathless. Where had all this suddenly come from?

'Are you available next Thursday at six o'clock?'

Elizabeta smiled at the question, yet not without wondering whether her answer to his previous one had caused him to ask it. 'Yes, that would be great. How much do you charge?'

'€30 per hour, but a cheque every ten lessons will suffice.'

Expensive, yet she knew that meant he would be good.

'That's absolutely fine.'

'Do you have a pen with you?' he asked 'let me give you my address.'

A few moments later she had it noted down. 'Done.'

'I will see you next Thursday, _ja_?'

'_Ja_. _Danke_.'

'Do not thank me, Miss Héderváry.'

Elizabeta frowned when he said that. His voice sounded suddenly distant, thoughtful… no, something else. Something Elizabeta could not quite put her finger on.

'Herr Edelstein?'

'Yes?'

'Please, call me Elizabeta.'

'Very well. _Guten Nacht_, Elizabeta.'

'_Guten Nacht, _Herr Edelstein. _Danke_.'

The line went dead, and Elizabeta grinned.

* * *

German:

_Frau_ - Mrs

_Hallo_ - Hello

_Guten Abend_ - good evening

_Herr_ - Mr

_Ja -_ Yes

_Danke_ - thank you

_Guten Nacht_ - good night

...and the Vienna Muzikverein is just a concert hall in Vienna. ^^

So, how was that? Reviews and constructive criticism appreciated greatly~!


	2. Serenade

Hi everyone! So sorry for the wait, but I have tons of schoolwork. -.- I probably should have mentioned this in the first chapter, but **updates will be slow** for two reasons:

**1) I will be working on multiple fics at the same time**  
**2) over the next two years I'll be studying for my A Levels (for you non-Brits out there, these are the exams that decide whether or not I go to University). So, as you can probably guess, I need to put my schoolwork before my fanfiction. I'll still be writing, but chances are things are going to move slowly during term time and speed up over the holidays.**

Anyway, I hope this makes up for the wait. ^^'

* * *

'Ugh, I _hate _this!'

Elizabeta sighed in frustration, grabbing the sheet music to Fauré's _Fugue in E Minor_ off of the piano and throwing it carelessly aside.

For the past half an hour she had been sitting at the grand piano in the lavishly-furnished living room of the house, playing the same line of music over and over again in the hopes of finally mastering it. But no matter how slowly she went, or how much she took the piece apart, Elizabeta found that she just ended up hating it more than she already did – if that was even possible.

She had never been one for contrapuntal music – and especially if it had been written for the piano.

There was a knock at the door, which opened swiftly moments later.

'Elizabeta?'

Elizabeta turned around on the piano stool to face her mother, who was standing in the doorway.

'Yes?'

'Your father and I are going out – we just have a few errands to run. We shouldn't be more than an hour or so.'

'Okay,' Elizabeta replied sullenly, before turning back to the piano. Placing her hands once more on the keys, she was about to start playing when –

'I heard you as I was on my way in.'

'And?!' Elizabeta replied, exasperated.

Her mother walked into the room and picked up the sheet music before laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. 'Don't wear yourself out with this now. It's clear you hate this piece… perhaps you should just give it a rest and wait until your first lesson with Herr Edelstein? I'm sure you have other repertoire you could play to him.'

'But he'll probably be looking for something impressive… it took me a while to convince him to teach me – I have to make it worth his time!'

Her mother leaned against the piano and placed the music on the stand, looking down at Elizabeta. 'Play him something_ you_ enjoy. Not something you think he'd want to hear. You'll give a better performance.'

Elizabeta was silent, and her mother checked her watch.

'Right, we'd best be off. See you in a few hours at most!'

'See you…'

Elizabeta's mother headed towards the door, stopping in the doorway and turning around once more.

'We're proud of you,' she said suddenly, with a small smile. Elizabeta did her best to smile back.

A moment later she was gone, and Elizabeta continued to practise once more, setting aside the fugue and playing a Chopin nocturne.

It wasn't nearly as graceful as she would have liked it to be. Her fingers were clumsy and she could never play delicately enough. She tried closing her eyes in an attempt to listen more to what she was playing, _how _she was playing, but all she ended up doing was playing wrong notes as she was not looking at the keys.

Elizabeta's eyes snapped open. She'd _never_ be able to do Chopin justice at this rate. She could not play elegantly if she tried.

Standing up suddenly, she tucked the stool underneath the piano and stormed out of the room, breathing heavily as rage and frustration consumed her. She made her way up to the vast bathroom, glancing at the clock on the way.

_6:15PM._

Elizabeta began to run the bath – a large, circular one carved from shiny white marble – undoing her hair from its messy ponytail and stripping out of her clothes. Within twenty minutes she was in the water, closing her eyes as its warmth enveloped her like a blanket, and she began to ponder her upcoming lesson with Herr Edelstein.

What did he look like? He was probably elegant, judging by the smooth, aristocratic way he had spoken to her on the phone. Was he tall or short? Slim or large? Blue-eyed or brown-eyed?

Was he good-looking? Something told her he had to be, judging by the effect even his voice alone had had on her that night –

Elizabeta mentally scolded herself. He was to be her _teacher_ – to even think about this sort of thing was wrong. Besides, he was probably married.

Opening her eyes, she reached for the shampoo bottle, tipping out some of its contents onto her hair and lathering absent-mindedly. What would Herr Edelstein expect from her on Thursday? Something difficult and impressive? Or something slower, more beautiful? Mozart or Schumann?

Or perhaps a Beethoven piece? She had told him he was her favourite composer, after all. Perhaps he wanted to see how well she could play something by him. She certainly knew a lot of his repertoire.

She rinsed her hair under the water. Yes, that was what she'd play: some Beethoven. The first movement of his _Pathétique_ sonata.

But what if she didn't know it very well at all? She had never studied much Beethoven with her previous teachers – it had always been in her own time. What if she'd misread the notes all this time? Or neglected a performance direction?

No, that was silly. She'd always paid extra attention to the work of Beethoven. She just hoped that Herr Edelstein liked independent work.

After spending a few minutes washing her body, Elizabeta closed her eyes once more and leaned her head back against the edge of the bath, thinking.

How long she was there for she did not know, but at some point she figured she must have fallen half-asleep as she was woken by the sound of the doorbell.

She sat up, glancing at the small clock on the wall of the bathroom.

_8.30 PM_.

She had been in the bath for _two hours._ Surely her parents must be back by now, mustn't they? They would answer the door. Yet when she heard no movement downstairs, she was clearly wrong. She got out of the bath as she heard the doorbell ring again.

'I'm coming!' she yelled as loudly as she could. Wrapping herself in a bathrobe and roughly drying her hair with a towel, she made her way downstairs. Perhaps her parents had forgotten their keys. Perhaps it was merely a visitor.

But… who would visit at this time of night?

Elizabeta opened the front door, but what awaited her was not what she expected at all.

A stocky policeman was standing on the doorstep, a police car parked behind him. He was middle-aged, with pale skin and a greying moustache, but he gave her a small, almost nervous smile, as though trying to prepare her for what he was about to tell her.

Immediately, Elizabeta's heart started to race and she began to think the worst.

'Are you Elizabeta Héderváry?' he said, his voice betraying no emotion.

Elizabeta nodded slowly, eyeing him. 'Yes… what's happened…?'

The policeman glanced at the floor and cleared his throat before looking back up and speaking slowly.

'Your parents have… been involved in a car accident.'

She hardly dared to breathe. 'Go on,' she whispered, though deep down she already knew what had happened.

'They… they were both pronounced dead at the scene.'

Elizabeta could almost feel her life suddenly crumble around her.

oOo

The week crawled by.

It was the Tuesday afterwards now. Or was it Wednesday?

Elizabeta had neglected to check.

She was sitting at the piano. Sitting. Not playing. She hadn't played properly ever since she received the news. A few bars into each piece and she'd stop.

She stared at her reflection in the glossy black wood of the music stand. She would have to get a grip on her playing sooner or later. Herr Edelstein would be expecting something from her.

What if she didn't go to her first lesson? She had a valid excuse.

Yet it would be very short notice. And she didn't want to make any excuses – first impressions still counted. Perhaps her piano lesson would cheer her up. Part of her had been looking forward to it.

When was Thursday again?

Elizabeta checked her phone. Wednesday. So tomorrow, then.

She placed her hands on the piano.

She managed to keep going this time.

oOo

Elizabeta parked up on the side of the road, gazing up at the magnificent house at which she had arrived. All the houses in this area were beautiful but this one in particular was astonishing. Grecian pillars flanked the entrance – a tall, oak door with a door-knocker shaped like a lion's head – and a balcony was situated at the top of the house. The windows were large and the walls were light beige in colour, and a path snaked down to the front door.

Elizabeta made her way to it and checked her watch before ringing the door-bell. It was just coming up to six o'clock now.

She listened out for any piano playing that she may have interrupted, but there was none. She felt her heart begin to race in anticipation for some reason – why was she so nervous? It was only a piano lesson.

If anything, she should be grateful. It would serve as a distraction – a relief – from what had gone on in the past week.

Wouldn't it?

Elizabeta was broken out of her thoughts when she heard footsteps from the other side of the door. It would be nice to finally match a face to the voice on the phone.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, slim man – in his thirties, perhaps? – with pale skin and striking violet eyes. He had brown hair which was neat enough except for a rogue curl that Elizabeta imagined was untameable, and a beauty mark decorated his mouth. He was well-dressed and had an air of elegance about him, and he gave her a small smile upon seeing her – though his gaze seemed to linger for just a second too long before he spoke.

'_Guten Abend_, Miss Héderv – Elizabeta. Do come in.'

Elizabeta noted with interest how he had remembered to call her by her first name.

'_Guten Abend_, Herr Edelstein,' she replied.

He stepped back to allow her through, shutting the door gently behind her.

The house seemed even bigger on the inside. Two staircases ascended either side of the hall round a large grandfather clock and met at the top, creating a balcony of sorts overlooking the rest of the hallway. Flanking the front door were two large potted plants, and several doors led off the sides of the hall.

Elizabeta only had a little time to look, however, before Herr Edelstein led her through one of the large doorways underneath the stairs, leading into the back part of the house. Before long they came to a large set of white doors which revealed a magnificent music room: a spacious white chamber, three walls of which were lined top to bottom with shelves no doubt holding sheet music, busts of composers in each of the four corners of the room which, upon closer inspection, appeared to be the four greats – Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and Chopin, a grand chandelier hanging elegantly from the ceiling, but the object dominating the room was the glossy black Steinway concert grand piano in the centre.

Elizabeta stood transfixed for a moment, vaguely aware of her new teacher's eyes on her as she hesitantly stepped towards it. Yes, she had a Steinway at home, but not _this _model. Not a proper concert grand.

'Do take a seat at the piano, Elizabeta,' Herr Edelstein said, drawing up a chair to the right of the piano stool for him to sit.

She did as he asked, staring at the keys, but Herr Edelstein remained standing.

'I have to say, Elizabeta… your persistence interests me,' he commented, 'usually when I say to people that I am no longer taking students, they take note and hang up – they do not insist that I teach them… how do you know I am right for you? You may think me a dreadful teacher by the end of our lesson. But I am curious to see what you have to offer me in terms of your playing…'

_I know you're not a dreadful teacher, _Elizabeta thought,_ I just know_.

'Now then,' he began, 'before I ask you to play I would like to know a little more about you… in terms of how long you've been playing, what sort of repertoire you enjoy, and such like.'

His tone was kind yet firm. Elizabeta continued to stare at the keys of the piano, almost mesmerised by them. She could feel her fingers twitching, longing to play on them.

'Well, I… I started lessons when –'

'I must ask that you look at me when you speak,' Herr Edelstein said quietly.

_Of course_. Where were her manners? And what had she told herself about first impressions?!

Elizabeta snapped her head up, looking him dead in his shining violet eyes. 'I started piano lessons when I was five, and I've… I've gone through quite a few teachers. I moved to Austria when I was seven – my parents are – _were_… both musicians, and… well, I'm now nineteen so that's, what, fourteen years? I enjoy, uh…'

She all of a sudden lost her train of thought. What did she enjoy?

'Forgive me for asking, but… 'were'? Your parents have moved on from careers as musicians?'

The words were out, blunt and harsh, before she could stop them.

'They're dead. Car accident last week. The funeral is tomorrow.'

There was a silence.

'I-I am sorry,' began her teacher, almost inaudibly, 'I should not have intruded.'

'You weren't to know…' Elizabeta replied, looking away for a brief moment before turning her head in his direction once more, 'but…'

She thought back to last week.

'The last thing my mother said to me was that she was proud of me… and…'

She refused to cry. No. Not now.

Now she knew her motivation to learn.

'I want to… honour that. She was proud of me for what I did on the piano – even when she saw me struggling. But I never always felt… _worthy_… and these past few months I've been wasting time. Lacking motivation. Lacking patience. Lacking _passion_. And I… I really want you to help me… well, find it again…' she finished lamely.

Herr Edelstein was silent, standing by the piano, gripping the side of it tightly. His knuckles were almost white – it was as though he thought he would lose his balance without the aid of something to hold on to.

A split-second later, however, he let go, turning his back on Elizabeta. Her eyes were still fixed on where his hand had been. It was a little strange…

'Do you have anything prepared for me today?' he asked suddenly.

He turned back around to look at her before she answered.

'_Ja_… the first movement of Beethoven's _Pathétique_.'

Herr Edelstein nodded. 'A good piece, though I have to say, not one of his best, in my opinion.'

'It's one of my favourites.'

He gestured to the piano. 'Show me how you play,' he said with an encouraging smile – yet it was so tiny it was easily missed.

And she did.

Before beginning, Elizabeta put down the music stand – she always preferred to play from memory. A moment later she struck the first loud, low chord, and the music began.

She felt her heart speed up, felt her teacher's eyes on her as she tried to pour her emotion into the opening bars of the piece. It was low, cautious, fragile, quiet. As it grew louder Elizabeta could hear Herr Edelstein inhale a little, as though anticipating the climax. It distracted her a little, yet she did not know why, but she carried on, moving swiftly onto when the melody grew fast and agitated throughout the rest of the piece. She played for minutes on end, sometimes forgetting that Herr Edelstein was in the room, until at last the music came to a loud, definite end.

She was motionless for a few moments before turning slowly around to receive the comments.

Herr Edelstein nodded in approval. 'Overall, very good. This is not an easy piece, yet you have learnt it well… am I right in thinking, however, that you have not yet studied it with a teacher – that is to say, this has been something on the side…?'

Elizabeta nodded quickly. 'How did you know?!'

Herr Edelstein smiled a little. 'There were one or two wrong notes. But no matter – that can easily be fixed. We will do some work on it next week, but as for now…'

He turned away again, walking towards one of the shelves. 'What sort of repertoire did you say you enjoyed?'

'I – I didn't.'

'Hm…'

He turned back around. 'Have you played much Chopin?'

'N-no…'

He withdrew a book from the shelf, flicking through it.

'Try one of his nocturnes… let's see…. Opus 55, No. 1 in F minor. I have a feeling it will suit you.'

He handed the book to her. 'How good is your sight-reading?'

Elizabeta's eyes widened. 'I-it's not very good at all… hence why I play without music. I seem to remember pieces almost automatically – I find myself not needing to rely on the score as much, so I don't get as much practice in.'

'I see. Well then, may I demonstrate?'

Elizabeta got up, allowing him to sit at the piano. He adjusted the stool, straightened his posture, closed his eyes.

And he played.

Oh, how he played.

* * *

How was that? I stopped it there because I don't want to give too much away about Austria just yet - but I'm interested in hearing your comments. All reviews and critique welcomed! :)

Oh, and I recommend that everyone listens to the two pieces I mentioned in this chapter: Piano Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Opus 13 (Pathétique) (I mentioned the first movement but all three are amazing) by Beethoven, and Chopin's nocturne Opus 55, No. 1 in F minor. They're two of my favourite pieces, hence why I included them in here :) (though the Beethoven is a complete bitch to play, though...)


End file.
